The Girl for the Debt
by ElizabethDeWitt
Summary: (AU) Sequel to "The Girl in the Tower." Booker's life story and his quest to save Elizabeth from the mechanical clutches of the Songbird, all told from his POV. Rated M for lemon and strong language. Possible OCs in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Boys with Guns

**Author's Note: Hello fellow Infinite fans! Welcome to "The Girl for the Debt," the sequel to "The Girl in the Tower"! I am so glad you're here! I hope you all enjoyed the last story and thank you so much for your support, patience, and most of all, reviews! I really appreciate all of your encouragement, which has really inspired me to write more for you guys! Anyway, before we begin, I just want to make a quick note for anybody who has just started reading this story. If you're reading this now, I recommend you read the first story before continuing this one, so that way you will have a good idea of what's currently going in the plot. And of course, for those that have not yet played the game or have not beaten it yet, I highly recommend you play it or finish it first before reading. There will be lots, and I mean LOTS of spoilers throughout the story. And just so you are all aware, this is AU so that means that Booker and Elizabeth's relationship has changed from biological to unrelated, for reasons. In other words, they're not father/daughter in this universe, which opens the door for a sexual and romantic relationship to occur between them. I hope that clears everything up! Now without further ado, I present to you "The Girl for the Debt"! Please review, follow, and favorite! Thank you so much and enjoy! Much love!**

_**All Bioshock & Bioshock Infinite characters are all property of Irrational Games and Ken Levine, except for any OCs that I create myself. **_

* * *

_Chapter One: Boys with Guns_

* * *

**_Columbia, 1912..._**

_Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt; that was the deal. The details elude me now, but the details wouldn't change a goddamn thing._

* * *

**_Hours Earlier Before the Rescue..._**

One man down, five more to go... That's how many men are shootin' at me from all angles. There's a sniper at 12 o'clock while there's a guy waiting to blow my damn head off right there and then. He's standing just a feet away from where I'm hiding, which is behind the provisions crates. I better run soon or I'll be a dead man for sure. And I can't forget that girl... _That girl._

I remember the photo they had given me. A young girl trapped in a tower. Heh, what are the odds of someone like me saving her from that situation? Well, I would say they aren't exactly in my favor. More than a hundred guards roam the streets of this goddamn city, and there are people out there willing to die for her. This city ain't a place for sinners seeking a dunk in the water, it's a place for fools, and this city's got a fair share of 'em. I've seen the bullet-riddled soldiers and bloodied faces of war, but I've never seen anything like _this. _I've never even heard of _Columbia _before I came here. Not a single word. I must be behind the times because something like this ain't some secret to keep.

Damn it, Booker, keep your head on...

Guard, 3 o'clock!

I jump up from my crouched position and quickly shoot a round into his chest. I then search his body, finding a full box of ammo and a phial of salts. Nice.

"In the name of the Prophet!" A guard screams as he jumps down from a near-by skyline. I don't hesitate to light his ass on fire this time. I watch the poor bastard turn into ash at my feet.

Then another one follows, and yet another, all hopping from the skyline.

God help me.

* * *

**_North Dakota, 1889..._**

_"Boys with guns, girls with dolls." _A phrase my mother would repeat over and over, reminding me of my place in this world and the man my father wanted me to become. My father was no more a man, but no less a monster than his drinking buddies were. I've heard truth and I've heard lies, but I think I know which were truths and which were lies. The lies were few, but the truths were many, my mother once told me.

I wasn't my mother and father's only child. I had my sisters who were younger than me. Like my father, my mother would repeat that same ol' phrase over and over, reminding them of their place in this world. Housewives, caretakers, and childbearers. Me? Hunter, fighter, and soldier. Nothing more and nothing less than what Mr. DeWitt expects of his own son, his own flesh and blood, his heir to a damned legacy. A legacy? The man had nothing but a full bottle and a few cards on the table! Like father, like son.

I was a boy of fifteen years, living out near the woods of North Dakota. I was playing cowboys and Indians with the other boys from a near-by town. This area was mostly secluded, so I'm thinking they must have traveled several miles from their homes. My father preferred living in the forest next to all the game you can catch with a single bullet and net. My mother, on the other hand, preferred living near the loud townsfolk. She raised herself to be a city girl, though her own mother and father grew up in the woods. She ran away with a man twice her age to live in the saloons before she met Mr. DeWitt. However, there was one thing she never left at home: her tongue.

I liked it here. It was quiet and opened but surrounded by thick patches of green and wildlife. My father would take me each morning to hunt and fish with him. We would come back hours later with a week's worth of fresh game. Mrs. DeWitt and my sisters pitched in to prepare the supper, which was the usual fish and deer stew.

"Catch, DeWitt!" Saul, a local sheriff's son, was playing one of four cowboys in our game. Three others were playing the Indians, including myself.

I caught the stick that he had thrown at me, positioning myself in front of him. We stood center and looked each other dead in the eye. He was leader and I was chieftain. "Now, you here me close, redskin. I catch you sneakin' up on us again, I swear to the almighty hands of the Lord I'll shoot your damn head off! You listenin', you damn redskin?!"

I shoved the stick into his chest and pounded a tight fist against my heart, shouting into his face, "I am chieftain! These are my people and my land! The white man hear and see no mercy from us!" The stick in my hand nearly broke as I chanted a tribal mantra. My mother once told me stories of an Indian tribe that was native to the land. The Lakota, they were called. I remembered one of their tribal chants.

The two other boys that played Indians followed, but got lost in the chant. I guess they never heard it before. Like I said, they were mostly boys from the town. They had no idea of Indian tribes.

The game lasted for a couple hours or until the sun started to set. It slowly sunk into the bright orange horizon, the stars beginning to show themselves in the darkening skies. The boys and I then gathered our things and started towards our campsite. And from there on, we went our separate paths. They traveled back into town while I made my way back home alone and at night.

I founded the trail I would use to get back. The route was dirt, dead patches of grass, and dry streaks of deer blood, but it was also my father's way of knowing where the best game was. He made the trail using a stick and the animal blood, which would later dry up and be hidden under dirt and leaves. Why the blood? Well, like I said, it was where the best game was because that's where the deer made their habitats. I'm guessing most of the deer we caught were protective mothers. I think we killed their young too. We always brought home large and small game.

The route wasn't a shortcut. It made the journey a hell of a lot longer and progressed deeper and deeper into the night. I couldn't tell how late it had become but I'm sure my mother was wondering where the hell I could be, though my father probably didn't give a shit. He would think it a test of strength if I found myself wrestling a bear in the middle of the night. My old man thought I was born a coward and wished every second I would die one to prove his point. I wanted to prove him wrong everyday, but my mother would tell me to listen to his "good word." If he had any wisdom left in his head, he would know better not to drink and gamble it all away. But I was none the wiser. And if it's any consolation to me, the only coward here was him. Born a fool and died a fool with a half-empty bottle in one hand and a pipe still in his mouth. The other hand held a gun.

As I finally reached the edge of the river, which meant I was close by, I stopped and gathered my bearings. I was tired from miles and miles of trekking up hills, walking down rocky trails, and running through woods. I then kneeled over and scooped a handful of fresh water into my palms. My tongue was dry from the summer heat; it was the middle of July.

I then nearly fell into the water, caught off guard by the snapping and cracking noises from behind. It was dark as hell but that didn't stop me from drawing my rifle. It was my father's rifle; I never left home without it.

"Who's there?! I ain't afraid of you, redskin!" I screamed and cocked my gun, my finger firmly on the trigger. I was ready to blow the bastard's head off right there and then.

There was a brief silence before the old man finally showed himself. But he wasn't _my _old man.

"Drop the gun, boy."

I couldn't point out the dark figure that approached me seemingly unarmed, but I already knew who it was. I recognized the man's rough voice and I remembered the face that bore the scars that haunted me each night. Those scars of war. The savage face of war.

He was my father's friend, and my recruiter.

Slate.

Cornelius Slate.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter one of "The Girl for the Debt"! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of our new story! I also want to make note that I thought it would be interesting to write a fanfic from Booker's point of view, compared to my first fanfic, which was written from Elizabeth's POV. And I'm not sure if there've been other fanfics where Booker is the narrator, but nonetheless, I wanted to try my hand at something different this time. Share me your thoughts on what you think! And of course, if there are any inaccuracies, misspellings, and grammatical errors, please bring them to my attention ASAP! And thank you so much again for reading! Please stay tuned for the next chapter! And as always, don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Love you all! I'll see you all next time! :)


	2. Chapter 2: Battlefield

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Welcome to the second chapter of "The Girl for the Debt"! Thanks so much for your reviews on the first chapter! And special thanks to the unknown reviewer (Guest) for his/her review! I greatly appreciate it! :D Now sit back and enjoy the next chapter of our story! Please review, follow, and fav! Thanks again! Love you all! :) **

* * *

_Chapter Two: Battlefield_

* * *

**_Columbia, 1912..._**

_One thing I've learned; if you don't draw first, you don't get to draw at all. _

* * *

**_Monument Island Gateway_**

"Damn it..." I haven't seen a gashed up leg since my service at Wounded Knee. Open wounds, blood gushing out like tree sap, and missing limbs... the works. If war is any worse than this, I think I'd rather go back. Columbia ain't a place to die in, let alone be the face of all the 'Wanted' posters on every street corner and building. A man on the run with nothing more than a vigor, a shotgun, a Skyhook, and a girl to find. I come to Columbia with not a clue what to expect. But what do I expect? Redemption? A dunk in the water? A rebirth? A last chance? A sense of pride? No. I expect nothing more and nothing less than the job at hand. My job is to bring the girl and wipe away the debt. The girl for the debt and all will be paid, they said. I owe money to men that no one wants to be in debt to. But hell, it ain't my place to talk of redemption, pride, and second chances. And I'm definitely not one to judge anything 'bout this place. All I know though is that we're all fools in one life or another. If I could have another chance, I wouldn't ask for forgiveness, but take back all the gambling, all the drinking, and all the... the... Nevermind, I rather not talk 'bout it. I need to keep goin', keep my chin up, and find the girl. I need to get the job done once and for all.

Keep your head up high, Booker. That's all you got left now.

Right. Monument Island Gateway. This must be the only way to get into the place, but this leg... I'll try to patch it up the best I can. I ain't no doctor, but that don't mean I haven't seen worse.

There, a health kit, all I need to fix this damn leg. Ugh, now I need to carefully sew it up... Shit, this is gonna hurt.

"_The False Shepherd is loose on the pure streets of our Columbia. Stay in your homes, lock your windows, and shut your doors! Protect yourself from the False Shepherd! Beware his mark! Beware the False Shepherd!" _

Well... that didn't take long...

Fuck.

* * *

_**South Dakota, 1890...**_

Cornelius Slate, the man who recruited me a year earlier, brought me to his camp. He introduced me to his men, his gear, and his badge. We called him General Slate. I was then given my own badge and ranked as Corporal, Corporal DeWitt. It was only after a year of blood, sweat, and tears, was I given the title. I saw it as an honor, something to make my mother, father, and sisters proud. But the old man, the drunken and gamblin' bastard that he was, told me, "You should have tired harder, son." Nothing like making my old man proud. Nothing like making his honorable son feel good 'bout himself. If I could have, I would have shot the fucker dead for that. My mother probably wouldn't mind, and my sisters could give two shits. They saw him for the monster he was too.

The honor was more than I could handle. It overwhelmed me and gave me a sense of power for the first time. I was sixteen and I was ready for the battle that awaited me. Slate had prepared me for this day, trained me down to the bone. I was a different man now, a man with a conscious to kill.

Wounded Knee, a fight I'll never forget, but I can't anyway... I think of it, dream of it almost every night 'till the sun rises. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't... take it... What happened to me back there was more than I could ever mount on a wall along with the other _trophies _I collected. Skin and hair still attached, the scalps of the many redskins I took alive without mercy. I looked the devil dead in the eye and saw a beast worse than the devil himself. I saw _me... _A rifile in one hand while a bloodied knife was held in the other. I took each and every Injun with that knife, leaving a mangled carcass in each of those damn teepees of theirs. I left behind Injun children, women, and men. The ones that were helpless were easy to take out with a single shot from my pistol.

Slate praised my bravery, but questioned my savagery. I kept silent on a secret that poisoned me from then on. While recovering and removing dead bodies of both soldier and Injun, a sergeant, one of Slate's soldiers, came up to me and asked in front of all my men, "Your family tree shelters a teepee or two, doesn't it, son?" And I didn't say a damn word after. I wanted to believe he was telling me one of his jokes, or that he was drunk or lying. But that was the truth, a truth that'd been following me around since I started piecing the whole thing together. My mother spoke their native tongue, Sioux, the language of the Lakota. Her parents were Lakota, so that made her one of them. She was an Injun woman. My father, a disgraced white man, married an Injun.

But I was one of them too. I was half an Injun and half a white who also spoke Sioux because of my mother. They did call me 'The White Injun" after all... but it was because of all the trophies I collected from the ones I murdered. It makes sense to me now.

I am Booker DeWitt and I am the White Injun.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter two of "The Girl for the Debt." Thanks so much for reading! Please share me your thoughts on what you think of the story so far! Also, thanks again to the unknown reviewer (Guest) for his/her review on the first chapter! There will probably be a possible dream sequence between Booker and Elizabeth in a later chapter, which will more than likely also involve lemons. ;) Anyway, don't forget to review, follow, and fav if you want to read more! Thank you all again for everything and I'll see you all soon! Much love! :)


	3. Chapter 3: Wedding Bells

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! Welcome to chapter three of "The Girl for the Debt"! I apologize for not having updated since the 5th. I try my best to update everyday but the influx of homework has been kind of delaying me. But I promise I'll try to upload another chapter very soon! :) So keep your eyes peeled for that! Anyway, don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter Three: Wedding Bells_

* * *

**_Columbia, 1912..._**

_Booker, are you afraid of God? _

_No. But I'm afraid of you._

* * *

**_Monument Island_**

Here we are. Monument Island. The place don't seem guarded though.

Heh, a young girl trapped in a tower while the entire city's on my ass. Great. All I need now is another swarm of guards to get the job done. But with this already messed up leg, I better get moving and fast. I just need to find a way over that gate. Hmmm, there's a freight hook right there. That should do it.

Alright, here goes nothin'.

One...

Two...

Nothing ventured.

Three...

Nothing gained.

"We have been awaiting your arrival, Mr. DeWitt."

What the...

"If you do not mind, we suggest you follow us. We will lead you directly to your destination."

Now, if I didn't know better, I'd say it was those damn vigors... But this is not the first time I've seen _these two. _

"We know why you are here, Mr. DeWitt. You may follow us."

I quickly draw my pistol and cock it. Where in the hell did these two come from? "You two... Why are you following me? What do you want?" I ain't here for a goddamn conversation.

"That is interesting. I would say that _you _are following us," says the man standing next to his familiar looking friend... I'd say the woman could be his sister.

"Or maybe it was merely coincidence? Or possibly a matter of perspective?" the woman answers.

"Oh, sister. Let us not confuse him. There is something he needs and we ought to give _her _to him." _Her? _What does he mean...

"Wait. _Her? _What do you know about her?"

"I'm assuming you mean the girl. Oh, yes, of course. That is why you are here, correct?" These two seem to know her... But what do they mean? Who are they? What do they want? What's this all about? Why the hell am I here?!

I aim my gun and take a step back. I ain't some fool to take advantage of! "I don't know who you are and I don't know what you want, but you better tell me what you know! Right now!"

The man and woman look at me like I'm some outsider, which I am... An outsider, an intruder, Columbia's most wanted. A man armed and dangerous.

I never signed up for this... But what do ya know... A job like this don't come with guarantees. It ain't a walk in the park.

"Come with us, Mr. DeWitt. Time is running short." The man and his lady friend beckon me to follow them. Well, they don't seem like the rest, but that don't mean this isn't some trap.

Nonetheless, I don't let my guard down; I keep my gun cocked and my finger over the trigger. I walk towards the couple with caution, my instincts watching out, and I keep my eyes wide open for snipers and guards.

I don't have a good feeling about this.

"Right this way, Mr. DeWitt. You will be with her shortly." They lead me to the gate, which don't seem to be accessible without a key. So how in the hell are we-

Holy shit...

A sudden flash of bright light blinds me for seconds. I jump back and try to grab on to something, but I can't see.

What the fuck is going on?!

It happens so fast that I can't tell whether I'm out of it or if this is some kind of nightmare. But it don't take me long to figure out where I am now...

Outside a door, with the couple, my body still intact as well as my gun.

At least I'm alive but what the living hell just happened? Oh, man, I don't wanna know... I think.

The woman pounds on the door and a voice from the other side of it shouts out, "Who's there?! Who are you and why are you here?!" Sounds like a female... Could that be her? The girl?

She keeps on pounding on it, the voice screaming back, "Tell me who you are, right now!"

The woman stops for a second and finally says, "Dear? Elizabeth? It's me."

The door then opens, swinging towards us. A young girl is in tears and jumps toward the woman, wrapping her arms around her, "Oh my god, Aunt Rose!" They know each other, apparently.

I can't get a good look at her face, but that must be her.

The woman then chuckles, "Oh, my dear!"

I hear the girl mutter, crying into her shoulder, "Oh, Aunt Rose..."

"No time, child. There's someone here for you. It's very important."

"W-what...? What's the matter? Where's Uncle Robert?" The man I'm standing next to? Who are they to her...? Family... or...?

"He's here, love. Don't worry, but you have to listen to me carefully now. Understand?"

The man walks into view, leaving me to stand behind them. I still can't see the girl and I'm sure she can't see me. Yet.

The man then says, "We know you have not seen us in a long while, and we assume you received our letter to you. We also know that Comstock is dead, your father."

Comstock? Wait... Comstock, the Prophet. The face of the many posters plastered all over the city. She's _his _daughter? And he's _her _father?

The Prophet... and the Lamb...

I think it's starting to make some sense now...

So... what does that make me then?

Oh, right... The _False Shepherd._ Not the kind of title you wanna live by. But it damn well sounds better than most names I've been given...

"It is going to be rather difficult for us to try to explain everything to you, but we are here to make things right again. We want you to meet someone, Elizabeth. There is nothing to fear now," the woman continues.

"If you don't count that massive bird thing," the man answers. Massive bird thing? That sounds promising.

"W-what? W-who...?" The girl stutters and I can see a pair of blue eyes peek out from over them.

That is her... It's gotta be...

Elizabeth?

I walk towards her from between the strange couple and see her face...

I quickly recognize her from the photo they had given me.

She's... She's...

It's her.

* * *

_**North Dakota, 1891...**_

It had only been a week since Wounded Knee. I was now back home, but still haunted by the nightmares and memories of the battlefield. The bloodied faces of war, the wounded, the dying, the limbless, and the dead. All the men, women, and children I murdered with a knife and bullet. Those people, all those people... _My _people... Only guilt and hatred of my own skin justified my actions. But I would wake up one day and realize I didn't like what I chose. The mistakes, the shame, and the regret, all piled up onto my misery. If I could erase everything, if I could just start over, if I could be shut of all this, If I could... could... be born again...

Preacher Witting, a local to the area who had run his own church, held a river baptism that same week. I attended along with others who had the same intent as I did. I wanted to be washed of my sins.

"Come on now! Time's a-wastin'!

I was looking for a way out of the grave I'd dug myself into. I was ankle deep in water, my head bowed and my hands clutched in prayer. But I wasn't praying for God, I was praying for myself.

"Are you ready to have your past erased? Are you ready to have your sins cleansed? Are you ready to be born again? Take my hand," The man in front of me beckons, his hand outstretched towards me. It wasn't an offer, it was a calling.

"Are you ready to be born again?" I take the man's hand and let the rest fall into place.

"I am," I say.

"Do you hate your sins?"

"I do," I whisper.

"Do you hate your wickedness?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to clean the slate, leave behind all you were before, and be born again in the blood of the Lamb?"

"Yes!" I almost shout.

"Jesus, wash this man clean... Father, make him born again... Lord-"

I snapped.

"No, no, no wait, stop it! Stop it!" I yell, pushing my way out of the man's grasp.

"What are you doing, DeWitt!" I couldn't do it... No, I couldn't... I just...

"No, get off me! Get off!" I run ankle deep through the river and away from the place. I could still hear the confusion in the man's voice play over and over in my head. I ran so far away that I found myself in the woods again, where I belong. Where the beast within belongs... This is who I am, who I'll always be.

A monster.

Did I really think a dunk in the river is gonna change the things I've done? No. Not a damn chance in this world. God don't care what I do, and He certainly don't care if I die now or later. He don't care how many I killed, how many scalps I took from their heads. He just don't give a damn 'bout me.

Months after the baptism, I moved to New York City for a change of scenery. I left my family behind. My mother, my father, and my sisters behind. It wasn't that I didn't care 'bout them, I just needed a break from all the shit. Everything that I'd been through was more than I could emotionally and mentally handle. I once thought it was cowardly of me to leave them like that, but maybe it was more cowardly of me to run away from the only chance I had left of redemption and forgiveness. But hell, I don't deserve forgiveness, and I don't deserve redemption. I deserve a bullet to my head and a knife to my back instead.

Was Preacher Witting giving me a last chance? Was it my last hope? My only way out?

No. I don't need a dunk in a river, I need something else... I need...

"Well, you seem like a nice man. May I ask your name, sir?"

"Booker DeWitt, ma'am. Call me Booker."

I was now seventeen and acquainted with a young lady from a middle-class family. She was a beauty, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. A diamond in the rough, I called her, the diamond of New York City. My diamond.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. DeWitt, or Booker," Oh, man, that smile of hers... Those pretty dimples. She was a doll. And that chuckle, a little chuckle that would always bring a grin to my face. A face that has met the devils of war. She was an angel.

"May I ask your name, young miss?"

She giggled and blushed, "Anna, Annabelle Connery."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Connery. I mean. Anna," I wasn't inexperienced with women, but she was definitely a lively spirit, a girl different from others I've met when I was younger.

Anna was my age and she was the daughter of a banker and teacher. Her father was a successful banker and her mother was a teacher who had schooled orphans and runaways in churches. The times I've met them for dinner, I would dodge some of Mrs. Connery's questions. She would ask me, "Have you ever confessed? Have you ever been to church? Have you ever been baptized?"

My answer?

"No." And we all fell silent, eating the rest of our meals feeling sorry for each other, especially me. Maybe they both knew what I'd been through. The invisible scars in my face, the sins in my eyes, they all read _sinner _and _hell-bound_, but Anna still loved me nonetheless. I loved her too, and I loved our...

Soon after, I called myself a married man. It didn't take us long to fall for each other, and just after a month of courting, we were officially acquainted.

Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt. 'Till death do us part.

Weeks after, I found myself alone in bed and calling for her name. We slept the night together and I couldn't find her now. I jumped from bed and searched the little house we bought for cheap. It was small, but it was enough for only the two of us.

"Anna? Anna? Where are you? Anna?"

No answer and I started to lose it.

"Anna?!" I screamed and looked in all the rooms, all three of them. Except for one.

"Booker?" Anna, clutching her stomach, walked towards me, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh, Anna, darling. Oh, sweetheart. I called you and you didn't... Anna? What's wrong?"

Then out of nowhere, she smiled and kissed me, taking my hand to her stomach and whispering against my lips-

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter three of "The Girl for the Debt"! Once again, I am really sorry for the delay in updating and I will try my best and hardest to upload at least a couple or three more chapters in a few hours or so. Hopefully I won't be too backed up again. And to be honest, I don't think this chapter turned out as well as I had wanted it to be, so if there are any mistakes, inaccuracies, grammatical errors, misspellings, bad writing etc., please let me know ASAP! But anyway, thank you so much for reading and share me your thoughts! And as always, please review, follow, and fav! Thanks again! Love you all! And I'll see you all again very soon! :)


	4. Chapter 4: Anna

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! Welcome to chapter four of "The Girl for the Debt"! I did promise in the last chapter that I would upload at least a couple or three more chapters to catch up. So here it is! :D I hope you all enjoy it! Please review, follow, and fav! Thanks! :)**

* * *

_Chapter Four: Anna_

* * *

**_Columbia, 1912..._**

_So, Mr. DeWitt, is there a woman in your life? _

_There was. She died._

_How?_

_Giving birth._

_Oh... You have a child?_

_No._

* * *

**_Elizabeth's Room_**

"Elizabeth? Are you Elizabeth?" I ask the girl standing in front of me. Her face is as white as snow and she's slightly shaking. She obviously didn't see me coming and I don't blame her. Never trust men with guns. Especially me, of all people.

She don't say a word, but a single nod of her head confirms it.

The woman she calls her 'Aunt Rose' gestures toward me and says, "Elizabeth, this is Booker DeWitt."

I hesitate to take another step forward, afraid I might scare the shit out of her again. I then realize the gun is still in my hand. I should holster this thing before I shoot her eye out.

"To put it simply, love, he's here to rescue you from that terrible Songbird of yours. Sister, I told you He was a dreadful idea." The man she calls her "Uncle Robert" interrupts. I catch the woman roll her eyes. Like brother, like sister. I get it.

"Hush, brother. Not exactly. Elizabeth, the tower, this tower, is unstable. Comstock, before he died, programmed the Siphon to detonate after a certain period of time, which is soon,"

...Oh shit...

"Or today, perhaps, or maybe even tomorrow if it's not too late, you see?" Now you tell us. What are the chances of being trapped in a tower that's about to blow you sky high? Well, those aren't exactly in our favor either...

"Brother, I'd rather not argue with you today. Elizabeth, Comstock did accomplish to do exactly that with us. We will explain that later, but for now, we highly suggest that you leave with Mr. DeWitt. We can't risk you getting hurt," the woman says. She then pauses and sighs, "However, Songbird will be your only challenge. It would be easy to simply leave Him here and have Him destroyed by the Siphon's desctruction, but it won't be that easy." Oh great, the bird. The goddamn bird.

"Which is the worse part of this whole mission, dear."

"Need I remind you, brother, this is _your _idea after all. Not mine. Well, not entirely."

Well, fuck, if I'm gonna die here with the rest, I better get my damn ass moving and get the girl out with me! I ain't here for a lecture!

I quickly draw my weapon from my holster once again, cocking it, "Goddammit you two, I came here for the girl, not for the speech."

The two then clear their throats and take the girl's hand, pulling her towards me. I got a gun in my hand, aiming for them and not letting my guard down, and they're just giving her over like she's some animal. But it don't surprise me when I see her resisting.

"No, no! I don't want to go, yet... I don't know him! He might be here to hurt me for all I know! Please, Aunt Rose! What are you doing?" I don't wanna hurt you, and I won't let them do the same. You hear me? My job's to get you the hell out of here.

She then yanks away, pressing her back up against the wall. She throws her hands up like a shield, creating a wall between us. I can see that same fear in her blue eyes, the same fear that I felt when I was at Wounded Knee... And not just the fear, but also the guilt, the pain, the hate, and the... the...

No, Booker. You're here now, and that's ought to count for something. Get the girl, take her to New York, and all will be paid in full. You know the words, don't ya?

_Bring the girl, and wipe away the debt... Bring the girl, and wipe away the debt... Bring the girl, and..._

The woman grabs her hands and pins them with her own, saying, "Please, Elizabeth. He is only here to save you, not to hurt you. That is out of the question."

I could have said that myself. If I only I could tell her everything, the truth, why I'm here... I don't mean to hurt her, but I mean to get the job done. New York or bust.

"But-"

"But nothing. Dear, please understand that you have no other choice. I understand that you do not trust him, but you can trust your aunt and uncle. Are we clear?"

Frankly, I wouldn't trust _them. _But then again, who would wanna trust me? A man with too many debts to pay.

"May I ask something of you first, Aunt Rose?" I hear the girl say. I can't see much from my angle, but this don't look too good.

"Yes?" The woman answers.

I know bad blood when I see it... but hell, they might not even be related. I can only guess who these two are and they ain't her aunt and uncle. Back in my days of service, I was taught how to trust a man. Slate would separate a true soldier from a traitor by shooting who ever refuses first.

It was always the man with paint on his face. An Injun man. One of my own.

A tear ran down his painted cheeks as I looked him dead in the eye. And what did I see? A dead man, not with sin or debt, but with pride and faith. I could easily see he was a coward for refusing, but I was more of a coward for not stopping Slate from shootin' him dead. I didn't though, because I felt it was my duty. My duty to watch a man die for nothin'. He wasn't hurtin' anybody. He was protecting his own. His blood, his family, and his land. I was the last thing he saw before Slate blew a bullet through his temple.

Now I'm standing here and watching the whole thing unfold. The girl questions the woman, asking her who she is, who _they _are, and Comstock, her father, which honestly, I didn't expect. Comstock, the Prophet of Columbia they call him, thought it would be a good idea to lock up a young girl in a tower for God knows how long.

Give a man a little power and he falls in all kinds of love with himself.

The girl is nothing but their toy to play with. This man, Comstock, wanted someone to take over his place, someone related to him. And that someone was her. But I don't understand... What makes her so special? Where does she even come from? Who is this girl? Elizabeth... Tell me who you are...

I wish I knew... I wish I could.

"Well, you won't be seeing us for a long while regardless, Elizabeth. After you leave here with Mr. DeWitt, don't expect us to write you. Or at least her," the man says.

"Please go now, Mr. DeWitt, while there is still time. Songbird will be here any minute. He is programmed to keep Elizabeth away from intruders. Hurry now. Go," the woman informs me and I know right then what to do. Six words: Getting the hell out of here.

But not without her. Not without the girl. And after what I've heard, I don't know if I could trust anybody now, especially those two.

I don't hesitate to aim my lock and loaded pistol at 'em, "I just heard what you said to her. How am I supposed to trust you now?"

"There is no time to be wasted, DeWitt," says the man, seeming pretty clueless of the fact I might just shoot him dead. He don't know what this girl went through. What he put her through! I can't let them hurt her again!

But yeah, he's right. So little time to waste, considering that we're about to be blown to a million pieces.

I sigh and holster my weapon, muttering to myself, "This job's getting worse all the time."

Damn well it is. If I could take back everything, I'd... I'd... I don't know...

Don't lose focus now, Booker! You got a job to do! Get the girl and get the hell out! Go, go, go! Come on!

Right. Bring the girl, and wipe away the debt, bring the girl, and wipe away the debt, bring the girl and...

Damn, the power's going out... What the...

The lights flicker and I turn around. They're gone. But wait, they were just here... Where the hell did they go?

Hmph, there's no use trying to figure it out now. I don't think I'll ever understand this goddamn place.

I then find myself grabbing the arm of the girl I'm about to break out of here. I catch her as she falls, pulling her back into me, "I gotcha," I say. My fingers lightly hang on the fabric of her blouse, tugging it slightly as I stand her back up. She feels warm against me, and I can smell a decent amount of perfume on her. Her dark brown hair sits right underneath my chin. She's small in size, but she reminds me of somebody... Those blue eyes...

Anna...

"Let's go, Elizabeth. Let's get the hell out of this place," And I gesture toward the exit door. She nods and looks around, probably just as confused as I am, "Wait, where did those two go?" I then add and she just shrugs. I know, they're not here and who knows where the hell they went. Let's just get out of here before the whole thing blows!

_Boom!_ _Smash!_

Oh hell no... No, no, no!

"Oh God, He's here!"

"Who?" I shout, the entire room shaking and rumbling. The noise rolls under my feet, coming from the bottom to the top...

Oh fuck no...

"Songbird! We need to leave before He finds me! Now!" Songbird? What in the hell is she talking about?!

A tune then plays, and I don't know it is. But whatever it is, it don't sound like good news at all.

And that's when I hear a loud, high-pitched noise from above us.

My eyes nearly pull themselves out of their sockets and I instinctively reach for my pistol, still loaded and ready for what's about to come. A few bullets should take this damn thing down!

"Over here, Elizabeth!" I call for her, forcing the door open with my hands. Whoa, this thing is tough... No wonder why she couldn't escape. The whole place is locked up!

"Mr. DeWitt! Wait!" I hear her say and I turn around. No, there's no time! Let's go!

"What? We have to get out of here before-"

"I'll explain it all later!"

Huh?

What is she doing? What is that...

What the...

What's happening?! Why can't I see?! Elizabeth? Elizabeth!

A bright flash of light blinds me once again. It's all too familiar... That's how those two brought me to her... But how...

Oh my god...

I can't believe it...

Where... are... we...?

Wait, I know this place...

No, it can't be... It's impossible... It's... It's...

...Paris...

Elizabeth throws a smile at me, the biggest grin on her face. Well, damn me, I ain't smilin'! Is this some... No, what is this?!

"What the..." I barely whisper as I try to take in what I'm seeing here. No man, no way is this happening... I don't believe in miracles, but this is one hell of a...

Whoa, what just happened... Oh god.

"We're in... _Paris!_ Mr. DeWitt!" I've realized that much.

"What is this place, Elizabeth? Where the hell are we?" I might be a man of many debts, but at this moment, I am a man of very little words.

Words can't describe _this. _I don't wanna know, I don't think I ever wanna know.

"Paris! Don't you love it?"

I find my head leaving my shoulders, feeling lightheaded and confused. I don't think I can handle this. I haven't felt this afraid since... since Wounded Knee, since the river baptism... since Anna...

Oh, Anna...

I then find my consciousness again and look straight into the horizon. Wait, what is that? Is that... no...

I see it, something dark coming toward us, nosediving in our direction. It's huge... It looks like a...

...Bird...

The bird!

"Elizabeth... I don't think we're safe. This is not right... Elizabeth... this is a trap. Let's get out of here! Now!"

It's coming closer! No, no, no!

"What? Why? What can be better than this?" No, goddamn it, run! RUN!

Bigger than any man, any _thing _I've ever seen in my thirty-eight years...

She calls him the Songbird... Who is he?

A sudden rush of air then throws me back and I struggle to my feet. No, Elizabeth! No!

...It's too late... No, no, NO!

It's got her!

"ELIZABETH!"

* * *

_**New York City, 1892...**_

I was eighteen and a father-to-be. I was married and my wife, Anna, was pregnant with our child. I was afraid, and I was scared. I know of my past, but so did Anna. But how would a child of mine know? How can I tell my own kid the things I've done to lose the respect of my fellow man? My men, my soldiers, praised me for what I had done, but my own lineage resented me. I didn't blame them. And it was only when I burnt the teepees with the squaws inside, did they take me as one of their own. I suppose only blood can redeem blood. The soldiers called me a true comrade.

October 8th, 1892, my daughter, our daughter, was born. But my Anna... She... Oh, Anna...

The doctors said it was a complication, and then an infection. My wife, of only a year, died giving birth. I knew from then on what I had to do now. A widowed father with a newborn in his hands. My daughter. And as a reminder of my wife, my angel, my beautiful soul, my diamond, I named her Anna, Annabelle DeWitt.

She had her mother's eyes, those same blue eyes I loved. And that nose, and those lips... She had both our hair though. My hair is dark brown, same as my wife's.

It had been a year since I last saw Preacher Witting. I came to him, not for a last chance, but to baptize Anna. It wasn't at the same place, however. Witting had moved from North Dakota to New York to open a new church in the middle of the city. I took Anna there.

"I baptize you, Annabelle DeWitt, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen!"

Preacher Witting never did speak of the river baptism again. I was surprised he didn't give me a 'second chance" this time. But at least Anna's got a chance.

And I didn't need second chances, I didn't need a damn dunk in the river... I needed something else... Something...

Anna.

She was my last chance.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter four of "The Girl for the Debt"! Thanks so much for reading! And I apologize for the long chapter, it took me a while to write. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I apologize again for the quality of the last chapter. I was kind of dealing with writer's block, so I was sort of running low on inspiration. But I hope this chapter was better than the last! Please share me your thoughts! I appreciate it! And don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Thanks again and I'll see you all soon! Much love! :)


	5. Chapter 5: AD

**Author's Note: Welcome to chapter FIVE of "The Girl for the Debt"! As promised, here's another chapter to our story! I hope you all enjoy it! Please review, follow, and fav! Thanks and much love! :)**

* * *

_Chapter Five: AD_

_**Paris, 1983...**_

I stand in the middle of an empty street, in the middle of Paris...

Nope, not Columbia. Paris. Paris, France.

...Paris... But how...

Words just can't describe what I saw back there. It looked like a window to another place, but this ain't nineteen-twelve. This ain't nothing I've ever seen.

And that _thing... _That thing took Elizabeth... I gotta find her!

I look all around the place, unfamiliar of my surroundings. All I can see is the Effiel Tower in the distance, and to my right is a... theater? What does that say there? Damn, I can't read it, it's in French. But whatever it says, I never heard of it before and I haven't seen it.

And the music... What is that? Where does that come from? It don't sound like the stuff I've heard back there. Man, what is this place?

I never signed up for this... All I needed to do was to get the girl and take her to New York, but I guess it ain't gonna work out like that.

The job description is this: Bring the girl, and wipe away the debt; that was the deal. The details elude me now, but the details wouldn't change a goddamn thing.

And like they say-

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Let's go, Booker, we gotta a girl to find.

* * *

_**New York City, 1893...**_

I was nineteen and out at the bars with the boys. I guess you can say I was coping with my... Anna's death from a year earlier. I was left a lone father with a child of my own to feed, a child I had the duty to raise up without the help of a mother on the side. My daughter, Anna, was without her mother, but was not completely alone. She had me, a father who drank and gambled his way through his guilt, through a lie. I lived that lie. My life was a lie, and still is.

If only I could take it all back... If only I could start over again... If only I could have that second chance... If I could have... saved her...

Oh, Anna... Anna, I'm so sorry... Anna...

I was so foolish to leave Anna alone in the house that night! I was so stupid! I wasn't thinking!

The police said it was arson, and then a lit cigar that was never put out. I didn't understand... I... I thought I... I-I had...

The entire house was burned down and turned to ashes. Anna was in her crib, waiting for me to come home. But it was too late.

Oh, God, Anna... Anna... No...

I walked among the ruins of the house my wife and I bought together. We didn't expect a child right away, but she was ready to have one of her own. I wasn't, though.

Nothing remained left of the place and I was now there to pick up the pieces. I didn't want to see it, but they found what was left of her... My Anna... still in her crib.

Wounded Knee left me scarred, emotionally and mentally. But the fire left me a dead man, an empty man, a lonely man.

I had nothing left now... I killed all those people and I killed my own daughter! What kind of a man am I?! WHAT AM I?!

The months that followed were the toughest months I ever went through. I drank and gambled, harder than my own father ever did. I had to cope, I had to find a way out of this shit. This was my only way out.

A year earlier, however, 1892, after my wife's death, I signed up to be a Pinkerton Agent and received my badge. My job was to break up Union Strikes, and it wasn't easy. But soon enough, I was let off. Other agents complained about the _methods _I used while on the job. It didn't surprise me, and I don't blame them. Can't trust a man who's just lost his wife and now his only child.

After that, I became a Private Investigator, or as I describe it, an Independent Contractor.

I blamed myself for the deaths of my wife and daughter. I never did forgive myself for what I had done to them. I was born a fool, a drinker, a gambler, and a loser, just like my father was. Like father, like son.

I didn't need and I didn't want forgiveness for my debts. I didn't need to be washed of my sins. I didn't need a good ol' dunk in the water. I didn't believe in forgiveness, and I didn't believe in redemption either. I did believe in one thing though...

I sat in my office, alone and with an empty bottle on my lap. I took a rod from atop my desk and heated it over a lit match. I then took that rod and placed it against the top of my hand. I clenched my teeth hard, nearly breaking my jaw as I branded myself a broken man.

I never forgot her from that day on. I never forgot because...

I always remembered the brand on my skin.

A.D.

Anna DeWitt.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter five of "The Girl for the Debt." Thanks so much for reading! Please stay tuned for the next chapter! And as always, don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Thanks again and I'll see you all again very soon! Love you all! :)


	6. Chapter 6: Debts

**Author's Note: Hey guys, welcome to chapter six of "The Girl for the Debt"! I hope you've all been enjoying the story so far! I apologize, once again, for the slow updates but don't worry, there is much more to come in the next few days! Anyway, please review, follow, and fav! Thank you and enjoy! :) **

* * *

_Chapter Six: Debts_

* * *

_**Elizabeth's POV**_

* * *

**_Columbia, 1915..._**

**_Three Years Later..._**

Time rots everything... Even hope.

But not me... No, not me. My chances of escape might have completely dwindled now, but I am not going to give up my last shred of hope. Yes, my hope has rotted, though not every bit of it has withered away. My hope and my prayers for a man so far away are always on my mind as I sit silently in my new prison.

Comstock's house, my father's mansion above the clouds. He once lived in Emporia and knew I would inherit his dungeon once he had died. Though he didn't know he was going to die at the hands of Songbird. So much for a Prophet, someone who couldn't foresee his own demise. And he knew Songbird would never give me up, would never let me crawl away. He would always be after me and never giving up. He always stopped _him _and never failed. It was His duty to keep me in my true place, my only belonging in this world. Columbia was my kingdom to inherit, my prison to keep, and my weapon to use.

"The Seed of the Prophet shall sit the throne, and drown in flame the mountains of Man..." Those were my father's own words, his promise to me since I was a child. He had prepared for me a plan, a future I refuse to make happen. It was my father's dream, but not mine. It is my nightmare.

Oh, Booker, wherever you are... Please save me from this hell... I want to take off the leash and leave it all behind. Yes, my father put it on me, this leash. I want to take it all off, but I am afraid of what could happen if I do. If I take off the leash, would I find myself less willing, weaker, and as obedient as ever? Or would I find myself free of all the torture and waste that my father has put on me all these years? Would I find myself a free woman, an independent woman, a new woman? Or would I simply wither away and fulfill the destiny my father has set for me? This was his plan, his hope, his dream, his wish for his own daughter. What will I set in motion that will be the end of us all? The end of mankind? The death of the Sodom below? But what is this Sodom? Where is it? Oh, father, why me? Why should I finish what you have started? I'd rather end it before it slips into its terminal stage. Don't make do this, father!

I have been waiting three years for the day to come, the day that Booker DeWitt saves me once again, and hopefully the last time he ever will. Yes, three years have passed and still nothing comes of the hero who tried once already to save me. And that first time was three years ago, nineteen-hundred and twelve. It is now nineteen-hundred and fifteen, and I've been hidden away again by my jailer, the Songbird. He is not _my _Songbird, He is just my father's watchdog.

I remember when that _thing _took me away from Paris, from Booker, and far, far away from my freedom. He flew us back to Columbia through a tear. Yes, through a tear He made himself. I've only realized now that Songbird has also been programmed to create His own tears somehow. I have not a single idea why, but I will soon find out.

Waiting, waiting... That is all I do, that is all I _can_ do now... I wait for my time to run out, my hope to run dry, and for the man with a final debt to pay. And I am that debt. _His_ debt. And he will come to pay that debt at last. But at what cost? For my life or for his own?

Booker DeWitt, the man with a debt to pay. And I am the girl to wipe away that debt.

At night, I hear the words, _those_ _same_ words over and over again...

_The_ _words... _

_...Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt... Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt... Bring us the girl, and..._

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**This concludes chapter six of "The Girl for the Debt"! I am so, so, so sorry for taking so long on updating. I've been kind of lacking inspiration the past few days. Damn writer's block. :/ Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one, but there will be more to come and I promise that the next few chapters will definitely be longer! And I also thought it would be interesting to bring back Elizabeth's POV for this chapter. Anyways, please review, follow, and fav! Thank you and see you all next time! Much love! :)


	7. Chapter 7: Once a Sinner, Forever One

**Author's Note: Hello everyone, welcome to chapter seven of "The Girl for the Debt"! So sorry again for the slow updates, but as I've promised, I will try to upload as many chapters as possible in the next few days or so! So stay tuned for that! Thank you for your patience and support! Enjoy! :)**

* * *

_Chapter Seven: Once a Sinner, Forever a Sinner_

* * *

_**Booker's POV**_

* * *

**_New York City, 1899..._**

Preacher Witting once said to me, "Once a sinner, forever a sinner. Once reborn, forever reborn." The man would repeat that same ol' phrase over and over 'till he was blue in the face. He often said those words during his services at the local church in New York Square, the heart of the city.

The years that followed Anna's death were hard to bear. The dreams, the nightmares, the fire, the house, the scorched body of my daughter still in her crib. The drinking, the gambling, the regrets, the shame, the guilt, the suffering, and the brand on my hand. The brand that left me a dead man. The brand of a monster, a beast, a drunk, and a gambler. My skin not only bore the scars of war, but also the scars of my sins. The sins were my debts, my burden, and my cross to carry. The entire weight of the world was on my shoulders. But if I couldn't save my daughter, I could at least save myself. I'm all I got left now.

"Once a sinner, forever a sinner. Once reborn, forever reborn. Yeah, I'll drink to that," I took a swig at my drink, nearly spilling half of it on the lady that sat on the lap of her man next to me. She then jumped and slapped a hand across my face, my drink shattering across the floor. The man was too passed out to intervene.

"Hey! Watch what ya doin', bub! Ya gettin' it all on my dress!" I wasn't gonna let the bitch have her way. I knew well not to strike at women, but in my wasted state, I might have mistaken her for the guy she was sittin' on.

"Mind your own business, lady. I ain't here for no trouble," I took the hand she slapped me with and placed it on her exposed breast. Pretty lady with blue eyes and blonde hair. Heh, she ain't my type.

"Oh, yeah? Wanna 'bout the dress? Ya gonna pay for that, ya know!" She spits on my hand and smirks, yanking her hand away. Her tit bounced and I couldn't help but stare at the slut. Holy shit, that was one hell of a rack she got...

"I said mind your own business, lady. I ain't here to pick a fight. You hear me?" I threw a few silver eagles across the bar counter, leaving tip for my wasted drink, "Here, keep the change."

Of course, she kept on complaining how I ruined her damn dress, but like the man I was, I didn't give a fucking shit about it. I then went back to my apartment, which I bought for cheap days after the fire six years earlier. Yeah, it had been six years since Anna died... Oh, Anna... I'm sorry...

I was a Private Investigator, an Independent Contractor working for the Security Bureau of the city. Not a bad job. I worked some days inside my office, doing the tasks assigned to me by the people that I was hired by. These men expected me to get the job done, no exceptions. And for the first time in my life, I was at peace with myself. I was now just a man and his thoughts in the confines of his own space. It didn't stop the drinking and gambling, though. I still found the time for that on most nights when I wasn't working or didn't have a job to do. I was just a twenty-five year old man still lookin' for a way out of his own grave.

Like Preacher Witting once said to me,

Once a sinner, forever a sinner. Once reborn, forever reborn.

Yeah, I'll drink to that.

* * *

_**Paris, 1986...**_

_**Three Years Later...**_

It's hard to believe I've been looking for her for this long now. It's been three years since I found myself in the middle of a Paris street at night, watching Elizabeth and that damn thing fly away into the distance, God knows where. Three years later and still no sign of Elizabeth. Where the hell could they be? Are they even here still or somewhere else? Far, far away from here? God only knows, but God could give a damn less.

I'm like a vagrant, a man just goin' from place to place, not really sure where the hell he is. But damn, any place beats me at this point.

Hmm, how about this one? The only hotel that seems to have an English name to it. Heh, the Grand Old Inn... It don't seem to belong here... Of all places. But I might as well check it out anyway.

Could Elizabeth be here? Oh, man, I hope so... But she's been gone three years... That damn thing must have taken her somewhere else or... or... no... Not back to Columbia, oh please no... Oh, Elizabeth...

But don't worry, I'm gonna find you! There's still time! Elizabeth!

For the past three years, I've adjusted to the odd scenery, getting used to the fact that I ain't in Columbia no more, or nineteen-twelve for that matter. I've stayed in hotel after hotel, trying to talk to the people 'round here but they don't seem to know or speak a damn word of English. And I've been to the bars... Holy shit, the drinks... Never tasted anythin' like it before. And the women... Well, I'll get to that later...

Right. The Grand Old Hotel, established nineteen-twelve...

Well... I'll be damned.

"Oh, you must be him... Mr. DeWitt?" A woman's voice comes from behind me, making me draw my pistol in warning. I quickly turn around.

"Hey, who's there? I'm armed!" Since my stay here, I really haven't come across any hostiles, other than the occasional hobo or rabid dog. This place ain't nothin' like Columbia. No Vox Populi here, and definitely no giant, mechanical bird thing.

The woman walks from under a canopy that hangs over the hotel's entrance, her hands calmly hanging at her sides. No surrender, I guess? No, not here. I think we're safe... for now.

"No need to be alarmed, Mr. DeWitt. I'm more of a friend, and less of a stranger." She does sound... familiar...

"Yeah? Well, show yourself!" I keep my pistol aimed and loaded just to be sure. Like they say, better safe than sorry.

The woman then walks into my view, her face slightly lit by a street light near by. Since I've been here for the past three years, I've kinda made myself familiar with the local setting. Street lights, weird looking boxes with moving pictures in them, and strange music. Yeah, nothin' like I've seen back in Columbia or back at home. Nothin' I've ever had in my forty-one years. Heh, what's next? Big speakers you can talk into?

But hell, I'm just a stranger in a strange land.

"Mr. DeWitt, I know why you are here. The girl, correct? You're here for Elizabeth."

It don't take me long to realize who it is. Her face is spotted with freckles, but yet, shows no sign of aging since I saw her last. Her red hair is picked up in the same bun, and her clothes don't seem to change either.

"Wait... I know _you..." _

I know her alright.

"Long time, no see, Mr. DeWitt. Madame Lutece at your acquaintance."

* * *

_**New York City, 1900...**_

"Once a saint, forever a saint, DeWitt. That's how the world works these days," Howell McCarthy liked his drinks mixed with whiskey, brandy, and a quick shot of somethin' stronger. It don't seem to amuse him much, but it certainly don't fail him either. McCarthy was like Slate, but drunk and lazy. And unlike Slate, he had never been in a war in his fifty-years, never seen the savage face of war. His daddy and gran-daddy's been to war, but not him. McCarthy wouldn't even last a second on the battlefield. The man is always piss-drunk with at least a half-empty bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other.

So I said to him, "Yeah? Well, I'll drink to that." And McCarthy just chuckled, taking another swig at his drink. Good ol' McCarthy, drinkin' 'till he's dead like nobody's business.

"So, boy, you been to the stables? I was a stable boy back in Texas, washin' them horses and feedin' them. Oh, the good stuff." The drunken McCarthy ain't tellin' lies this time. He was a stable boy like his father and grandfather, before they went to war.

"Nope, not ever. But you better stop drinkin' before you start talkin' bullshit." A man of twenty-six years. Yes, me, a man of twenty-six years, pissed-out drunk like his old man once was. McCarthy was like my father, a dumb drunk, but not a gambler like I was. McCarthy never cared to bet on anythin' that wasn't worth more than a bar of gold or silver. He would rather drink and fuck the babes that hung around him like flies over dead carcass. They only wanted to suck you dry, McCarthy, like most whores. And if you wanted to find him, you better start lookin' in a bar, or a whorehouse. But McCarthy wouldn't know that because he can't tell the damn difference.

"I never talk bullshit, son." Yeah, McCarthy never spoke a single word of bullshit. Well, damn, that was just another one of his own lies. McCarthy often spoke of the usual bullshit day in and day out. He would tell tales of wars he never fought, women he never married, and children he never had. Oh, that damn ol' McCarthy, never spoke a single truth in his life except for one. He was a stable boy like his old man.

But what was I? Just a man who still drank and gambled his debts and sins away like the man he was born to be? Yeah, just like his old man. That stupid old drunk that never gave a rat's ass about his own wife and children. But hell, it runs in the family, and in my blood. I lost my wife, my daughter... Oh, God, no... No... Anna... Anna, I'm so sorry... Anna...

"Go home, McCarthy. You drunk bastard," I took a swig at my drink as I slapped him on the back. That man, McCarthy never left the bar 'til he was knocked out cold with at least ten drinks in his belly. But when he did leave, he took a couple of babes with him. Oh, that good ol' drunk and stupid McCarthy.

Oh, good ol' McCarthy was drunk and blue,

leaving the place with pairs of two.

But when he got into a fight,

you might have guessed who was right.

Yeah, good ol' McCarthy was as dead as night.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter seven of "The Girl for the Debt"! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this one! Please stay tuned for the next chapter! And don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Thanks again and I'll see you all very soon! :)

And sorry again for the really slow updates.


	8. Chapter 8: Last Hope

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Welcome to chapter eight of "The Girl for the Debt"! Here's the next chapter as promised! Please review, follow, and fav! Thanks so much and enjoy! :)**

* * *

_Chapter Eight: Last Hope_

* * *

**_Elizabeth's POV_**

* * *

**_Columbia, 1915..._**

My head is spinning, my stomach is turning, and my heart is throbbing. I can barely feel my arms and legs now, and I can barely feel myself at all. I feel numb, my mind frozen in place. I sometimes feel as if the room is constantly in motion, but terrifyingly, it's not. It's always been here and never moving, but the only that is moving is my subconscious, which is slowly and painfully detaching itself from me. Every second, minute, hour, and day that passes, my mind slips further and further away and into the oblivion in which I know I am falling deep into. If what is left of me falls into this dark and bottomless abyss, I know I will never come back from it.

What are they doing to me? Why does it hurt so much? Where does all this pain come from? Is someone there? Anybody? Please?! Please! Please, help me! Please! Help me!

No answer. No one answers to the pained cries of the girl they've strapped to a chair in a wide operating theater. I've been here for so long now with no choice but to scream in agony as they shoot massive volts of electricity through my already wrecked veins. Each time I try to... to... open a tear... I feel the electricity pulsate through me, leaving every fiber of my being fried and unable to move. I am trapped in a permanent state of paralysis, my limbs and entire body weakened and damaged by the never-ending torture.

When will it all end? Oh God, please...

One shock after another leaves my body more of a mangled and pained mess. My bones are sore and my mind feels dead, the nerves under my skin tingling and twitching in response to the incessant flow of electricity through me. I can't tell whether I'm passing from one world to the next, as I am currently in a state of limbo, an uncertain realm of questionable death.

Is this even reality anymore? Is it Heaven above? Is it purgatory? Is it... Hell?

No, it's Columbia. My living hell in the clouds. My father's own kingdom of Heaven, if he were truly God. God that has manifested the body of man, the body of my father. But no, he is not God, he is merely a man, a fool who has followed the parade of his own lies.

My blood-curdling screams fill the large operating theater. I can hear the hush voices and the shuffling of footsteps near by, wondering if I should just be put out of my misery already_. _Oh God, please no... Just stop it! Stop the pain! Please! Oh, please! Get away from me!

"No, we can't kill her yet. She's still an asset. We still need her." Through the thick veil of pain and endless agony, I overhear one of the men. They talk of saving me, sparing me from my death. Just let me go! Please!

"But can't you see what's happening to her? She's resisting the treatment!" ...Treatment...? What treatment? This is death!

"No, this is the only way to cure her. The Prophet wants us to do our jobs, right? This is the only way to do it!" Cure me? What are they talking about...?

"This is not right, Powell."

"We have to do what we have to do, Pettifog. Like I said, this is the only way."

Yes, the only way to death.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter eight of "The Girl for the Debt." Thank you so much for your support, patience, and understanding! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter of our story! And as I've been promising for a while, I'm trying to write and upload the other chapters but I've been kind of backed up with other things lately. Yet again, I apologize for the long delays and will try my best and hardest to get the other chapters up and ready ASAP! Anyway, please review, follow, and fav! Thank you all again and I'll see you all very soon! :) Much love!


	9. Chapter 9: The Plan

**Author's Note: Hello everyone, welcome to chapter nine of "The Girl for the Debt"! Hope you've been enjoying the story so far! And as always, please review, follow, and fav! Thanks a bunch and enjoy! :)**

* * *

_Chapter Nine: The Plan_

* * *

**_Booker's POV_**

* * *

_**New York City, 1901...**_

"Mr. DeWitt, there's someone here to see you." I called Milton into my office that afternoon. He said he had a client for me to investigate. Reports of possible adultry, but I'm not one to investigate those sort of cases. I had told Milton over and over that I only investigate cases not involving private matters. Heh, the man even promised me an extra raise if I got the job done without complainin'. I can't say I refused the offer.

"Who is it?" I asked. Milton, in his usual attire- a top hat and suit- was my boss and main source. When I first met the man, which was at a bar no doubt, he had hired me to look into a few of his buddies who had a pretty long history of smugglin' suspicious imports from China to the mainland. It took me two weeks of undercover work to bust 'em.

"Mrs. Miller, sir. It's of a private matter." How many times did I tell him that's not in my line of work? Countless times, apparently. Damn you, Milton.

But with a heavy sigh and a hand to my face, I then said, "Bring her in."

The door then opened wide and there she was, walking pass Milton and into my office just like that. She was a lady dressed in dark colors of black and red with white lace hanging from the hem of her sleeves and dress. But it wasn't just the dress I noticed. Her face, those rosy red cheeks and light brown eyes like tree sap really caught my attention. Damn, what a babe.

She smiled courteously as she removed her over-sized hat, revealing her golden brown curls along that pretty, narrow face of hers.

Looks like Heaven's missin' an angel.

"You must be Mr. DeWitt. I was told to go to you by Mr. Milton. He says you're the best of the best. Is this true?" I could almost hear her giggle at that.

I scoffed and ran a hand through my hair, "Well, I beg to differ, but yeah, I'm all he's got. I'm assuming you're Mrs. Miller. Nice to meet you, Ma'am," I stood from my chair and extended a hand out to her.

She then took my hand and shook it, saying, "Nice to meet you as well, Mr. DeWitt. I have quite a matter to take care of today."

I raised a brow in interest, "What can I help you with today, Mrs. Miller?"

She quickly averted her eyes and looked down in shame, "It's my... husband, Mr. DeWitt. I've been having my deep suspicions about his activities lately. I've known the man for a short time, less than five years, but I must say... the man isn't himself. I am fully aware that he drinks with his friends at the local bars. He spends half a night with those friends, but now he's gone the entire night, each night. If you want me to be frank, Mr. DeWitt, I think he's got himself a whore."

This is not the first time I've heard this sort of thing... We've all got our whores and our demons...

"Mrs. Miller?"

She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, her face torn with doubt, "Call me Irene, Mr. DeWitt. Please."

Irene? What a pretty name.

"Right. Irene, I..." Milton promised me that damn raise... I wanted to turn her away because this wasn't my dealing, but... I could see what she'd been through.

"Mr. DeWitt? What is the matter?"

I shuffled through my options, Milton's words, and my own feelings. Irene Miller, God's missing angel, a beautiful woman with a cheatin' husband on the side. I hate to be the white knight, but I could at least help her with this. Damn you, Milton, I'm only doin' this once, for her.

"Nothing. I mean, I'll pick up your case. I just need you to sign this. It's a contract stating that you approve of the following conditions and that this case will be entirely under my jurisdiction, unless I take it up with the local authorities. But all in all, this will be a private investigation. Sign here, Mrs. Miller. Er, Irene."

"Oh, thank you dearly, Mr. DeWitt. Thank you very much."

"Not a problem, Ma'am. And uh, call me Booker. Please."

"Of course, Booker." And there goes that smile again, that sweet ol' smile of hers. And those lips... those angel lips. Irene Miller, such a babe, such a gal. Goddamn, if only I could have said how I felt at that moment, beside my pants...

Irene Miller hired me to catch her husband red-handed, or to put it plainly, to catch him cheatin' and picking up whores from the local bars. He had drinking buddies, acquaintances, and sources. Irene seemed like a nice enough sort, a young woman of my age looking for a divorce if she knew her husband was unfaithful to her. But something in my gut told me otherwise. I was a private investigator, and so was Milton, an undercover investigator who was involved in similar dealings. These types played the role of the cheating husband to a faithful wife. But it so happens to be a cop just cracking down on possible frauds, phony investigators, and experienced con-men. They call it the long con, or so I've heard from my sources, like Milton, and a few others. I was hoping this wouldn't be the same deal, and to my relief, it wasn't at all.

After a straight week of investigating and undercover work, I confirmed Irene's accusations and had Mr. Miller arrested for being involved in a much bigger crime than cheating on his own wife. Mr. Miller was leading a prostitution ring, selling and buying women on the dirtied streets of the city. Gentlemen's Clubs weren't illegal, but whorehouses were. There've been over twenty prostitution busts in the past ten years. The local sheriff made it clear that he had every club under his big, fat thumb, and that he would send all his best men, cops and all, to keep the place under control. Well, many of these rings have gone under their noses, so I wouldn't be pattin' them on the back for a job not so well done.

Soon after the bust, Irene filed for the divorce she had promised. Now, it wasn't easy for Mr. Miller, such a big boy cryin' over his wife's choice to leave his goddamn sorry ass. I don't blame Irene for her decision to come to me to bust out her own husband. What a woman, I'll tell ya.

"Irene?" I held her hand in mine as I sat next to her. We were waiting for our ride out of the city at the train station. Funny story, after Irene's divorce to Mr. Miller, she asked me to come with her to Virginia to see her mother and father. I didn't hesitate to say yes.

"Yes, Booker?" She said, lightly squeezing my hand.

I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles, saying as I chuckled, "Oh, nah, nevermind. I'll tell you later, after we get to Virginia."

She then giggled and quickly nipped me on the cheek, that same smile lighting up those bright pink lips of hers, "No, tell me now, Booker. Come on, I'm waiting. What is it? Tell me. Please?"

"Are you sure?" The blood boiled under the skin of my cheek as I felt her lips against it.

"Yes, I am sure, Mr. DeWitt."

I then let go of her hand, bending down on one, shaking knee, "Irene Josephine Miller... would you do me the honor of... marrying me?" I took out a small ring from the breast pocket of my vest, taking her left hand and slipping the golden band onto her ring finger. My eyes met hers immediately, and I could see the tears quickly forming in them.

She stammered as she tried to speak, but I hushed her with a finger to her lips, whispering, "You don't have to say a word, babe. I know you don't want to-"

She softly kissed the tip of my finger, muttering against it, "Y-yes, I do. Yes. I want to marry you, Booker DeWitt."

It's hard to describe how a man feels when a woman takes his offer up in marriage. How did I feel? Well, I was... a different man, a reborn man, a new man who has been given that second chance. My second chance. Yes, my second wife, my second Mrs. DeWitt. And I promised to her from that day on that I will do anything to protect her, to keep her safe, to hold her without ever letting go, 'till death do we part.

The train arrived as I was spinning her around in my arms, kissing her all over, especially those lips, 'till I was blue in the face.

For the first time in a while... I was a happy man, a brand new man. With her tears, she washed away my past, letting me forget. And I did tell her everything about me. Every sin and every death I caused. But to that, she told me to forget it all, and to only remember the woman I was to make my next wife. And she would say over and over each day and each night, "Marry me, Booker. I love you." I love you too, babe.

I was no longer the White Injun.

I was now Booker DeWitt, a broken man no more.

* * *

_**Paris, 1986...**_

"Do you have a plan, Mr. DeWitt? I'm assuming you do. I mean, all of us have some sort of plan, anyway."

I sigh, rubbing her bare back with my hand. One minute she was offering me a last chance to save Elizabeth, and now... Well... Long story.

I stay silent as I trace the contours of her slender figure, tracing each and every freckle on her skin. I then hear her mutter something under her breath.

"Well?" she says, moving her head back so that it rests against my bare chest.

"I don't know what to do. What do you think?"

She turns around to face me, her blue eyes staring back into mine with scorn, "I've told you, DeWitt. I have a machine that can create and open tears. That is how I found my brother, and that is how you will find Elizabeth again. You have no other choice. Understand?"

"Yeah? What's this machine called?" I ask, silencing her with a short kiss. She yanks away and slips under the sheets. Hey, woman, what ya doin' down there?

I laugh as I feel her crawl up my legs and onto my crotch. I then moan in pleasure as I feel her lips around something hard...

She stops for a moment and says, "Our little contraption." She giggles and goes back to business.

"Oh, yeah? W-what a contraption... Oh, o-oh... _God..."_

I twitch and jerk, my body about to bust its damn load. Oh fuck, she's good... Oh shit, this is good!

"R-rose!" I gasp and quickly slide my hand under the sheets, pressing her head up against my fully loaded cock as I release myself.

OH HELL...

"O-oh, god, Rose... Oh, man..." My sounds of pleasure are louder than her own moans as she sucks me dry. I can still feel myself dripping even after I busted that load... Goddamn, that was huge.

She then pokes her red-haired head from under the sheets, wiping her lips of the white stuff. My gift to her.

"Oh, Rose..."

She places a finger to my lips, smearing the stuff across them, "Not another word, DeWitt." She might be Columbia's genius, but that was one hell of a fucking blowjob. Holy shit...

I grin, grabbing her hand and putting it against my chest. I then lean in to kiss her, my hands exploring her soft tits.

She gasps, returning the kiss as she whispers into my mouth, "What's the plan, Mr. DeWitt?"

I then chuckle and say, "Bring the girl and wipe away the debt."

"That's my boy."

* * *

_**New York City, 1902...**_

_Irene DeWitt, _

_October 10th, 1902,_

_To my dearest husband, Booker DeWitt,_

_It has now been a year since we married, and I have loved you ever since. I will still and forever love you 'till we are old and in our respective death beds. _

_And hear this, Booker DeWitt, I am and will always be your most loving and closest wife, regardless of what the future holds for us. But I know this is God's plan for us and only us. We are true soulmates that will spend our eternity together after death in His heavenly kingdom._

_Booker, if I could show you how much I truly love you, there would be so many ways to show it. But you have shown me your love in the most sacred way. _

_Oh, Booker, you have given me a gift. The gift of life. _

_You have given us a child, our son._

_Zachary Hale DeWitt. _

_I am writing to you today because it is difficult for me to describe my love to you face to face. I feel as if I am being constricted by own heart to say the right words. But I think that is only because that is how much I truly love you. _

_I love you, Booker DeWitt._

_Always and forever, and 'till death do we part._

_Sincerely,_

_Your wife, with love,_

_Irene._

* * *

**_Author's Note:_ **This concludes chapter nine of "The Girl for the Debt." Thank you so much for reading! And I bet you didn't see that coming. ;) Yes, finally a dose of lemon for all of my readers! And also, you're probably thinking, "Oh my god, Comstock is Booker's son? asdfgjkl" But don't worry, I'll explain all that in the next chapter! So stay tuned for that! :D Anyway, please review, follow, and fav! Thanks so much again and I'll see you all later! :) Much love!


	10. Chapter 10: Last Chance

**Author's Note: Hey everybody, welcome to chapter TEN of "The Girl for the Debt"! I know I have a lot of explaining to do in regards to the last chapter of the story, so here we go. **

**Well, let's talk about a couple of things, one that one of my readers has brought to my attention via PM. As you've probably read in the last chapter, there was a lemon scene involving Booker and Rosalind Lutece. That might seem a bit confusing considering that Rosalind's only job was to bring Booker to Elizabeth once again, but as it's been implied, things got a little... heated instead, you might say. Well, let me explain that in just a few words. Rosalind has no actual feelings or emotions for Booker, but rather has got a "thrill" for him, or in other words, experimental, as with everything else she has ever tried out, including manipulating time and space with the use of tears. Also, it is basically impossible at this point (unless things change later in the story) for Rosalind to have any real feelings for her "brother," Robert Lutece, considering that they are in fact related because they are one and the same, just from two different realities. And it just so happens that a version of Rosalind Lutece in that alternate reality had a different chromosome, which resulted in her male counterpart, Robert. They're basically like "twins," but not really. I hope that cleared it up. **

**Now for the second thing I should explain...**

**As revealed in the last part of the chapter, Irene DeWitt (OC) gives birth to Booker's second child, and son, who turns out to have exactly the same name as Comstock, except for the surname, of course. Yes, that's right, Zachary Hale DeWitt sounds a lot like Zachary Hale Comstock. Well, that's because they are the same person. I know, that is really confusing but I will explain it all now. Just bear with me. **

**Remember guys, this is in an AU (Alternate Universe), which means that there are some things in this story that were never in the game's original storyline. Things that I've changed to fit my story. For example, Elizabeth and Booker are not father/daughter, and Booker and Comstock are not the same person, for reasons that I hope I've made clear before. But just as a reminder, these are the reasons. First, Elizabeth and Booker are not related in this AU, so that means there will be a pretty good chance that there will be a romantic and sexual relationship between the two later. And second, Booker and Comstock are not the same person at all, so that ensures that there is no direct lineage between Booker/Comstock and Elizabeth. However, Booker and Comstock are directly related in this AU. In other words, they are biologically related, father/son. And now, I will explain the why and the how...**

**Booker's first child, and daughter, Anna, dies in a fire, which confirms that Elizabeth is not Anna and is therefore not his daughter in this AU. So the events that unfold in the game never happen in this alternate reality of the story. However, something very similar happens later at a different point in time. We all know that in the game, Anna is sold to Comstock on October 8th, 1893. In this story, and this is your spoiler warning, Booker's son, Zachary, suffers the same fate. Now, I won't explain it all in exact detail because you will see that in the next chapter, which will be chapter eleven. But let's just say for now that time travel is very much involved in the plot, which means that the timeline will be completely screwed up and out of place and might not make any sense. But hopefully in time it will. I hope that partially clears it up in the meantime.**

**Plus, you're also probably wondering where Elizabeth comes from and who her real parents are if she is not Booker's daughter or Comstock's daughter. Well, don't worry, that will all be revealed in a future chapter. **

**Anyway, back to our story! Please review, follow, and fav! Thanks and enjoy! :)**

* * *

_Chapter Ten: Last Chance_

* * *

**_Elizabeth's POV_**

* * *

**_Columbia, 1918..._**

**_Three Years Later..._**

"Do you know where you are? Elizabeth?"

The smell of antiseptic and chlorine disturbs my nose. I groan and keep my eyes close.

"Elizabeth? Can you hear me? It's Dr. Pettifog. Open your eyes." There is no one trust I now. Not even myself.

Beside the pain I am feeling, the pain that numbs my entire body and mind, I mumble and try to move in my tightened restraints. Am I still in the operating theater, or is this a different room...? "Go to hell..."

I can hear Pettifog chuckle under his breath. I then feel his gloved hand caress my cheek. I quickly reject his touch.

"Good. At least you can hear me. But I will put here on your chart that you are not completely lucid just yet. How much pain are you in at the moment, Elizabeth?"

I want to say, "In enough pain to kill you," but I know I will only receive more than the chance to end him right here, right now. He always has his hand on the trigger, ready to send another round of electrical current through me. Yes, how long has it been since the torture started? Oh, God, I don't know... How long has it been...? Am I even in the same place? Oh, God, please... Please, help me... Somebody...

"Well? On a scale from one to twenty. Are you still in pain, Elizabeth, or do you need-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU BASTARD!" I scream and thrash in my secured chair, my senses lighting up as I feel a sudden surge of power racing through my veins. What's happening to me?!

Pettifog shouts a number of obscenities, punching a black button on the side of the wall. An alarm then sounds and the entire room shakes.

Oh, God... No, what is he doing? No, no, no!

Dr. Powell and a team of Columbian soldiers barge in through the doors, weapons at the ready as Powell's armed with a needle in hand.

I try as hard as I can to rip away from the restraints, unleashing my full power. All this time, they've been hurting me, killing me with the "cure." The cure that my father had found for me, the cure to rob me of my ability, my curse, and my identity. Who is Elizabeth without her ability to create these... mysterious tears? As a young girl, I was always marveled by my unusual power and saw it as a form of wish fulfillment, but somehow haunted by it because of what I could truly be capable of. Now, I can see what I am capable of, and why I am this "special" girl, this specimen they've kept locked up in a cage for so long. And I've realized now that my father wasn't trying to murder me, but was, in fact, trying to create this destiny for me, this future he had planned for me. I am my father's greatest creation. I am the flame that shall ignite the world.

"Elizabeth! Hold on tight!" The familiar voice suddenly penetrates my subconscious, unraveling a rushing wave of memories and tears. I immediately and without hesitation, recognize the voice.

It's _his _voice...

It's... it's...

_Him..._

Beyond the haze of my wrath and the thickening cloud of my pain, I finally see him for the first time in... Oh, God, how long has it been...?

I am still trying to break away from my chains, but when I see him, I scream his name, "Booker!"

One by one, a Columbian soldier is blown away with a single bullet, making Powell and Pettifog cower in fear. Such cowards, but I will show them what death really looks like...

"I'm coming for you, Elizabeth!"

I almost want to say something, but I can't quite get the words to pass from my lips. I know what I want to say... I know how I feel...

"Oh, God, it's him," I hear Pettifog say. I watch the poor bastard hide behind a desk beside Powell. Two poor, cowardly bastards.

"What are you doing with her?! Let her go!"

A jolt of pain suddenly tears into me and I scream. Oh, God, no! NO! MAKE IT STOP! OH, PLEASE!

One after another, the pain grows exceedingly worse with each volt, permeating my spine. All my senses become numb... I can't see, I can't hear, and...

...Now I can't feel my... my...

The entire room then starts to spin, going black and descending deeper into the abyss below...

This is my death, my last gasp for air, and the last thing I'll ever see...

"...B-Booker..." I grumble, my words slurred.

"Elizabeth? It's okay, it's okay, I got you." Through the blackness of death, I can see him... Those eyes... Those green eyes...

My hero...

"W-where are they...?"

A short pause and then he says, "I... killed them. All of them. You're okay now. Here, come on."

I try to move, but I can't... I can't feel my body... I can't feel anything!

"I-I... I can't... c-can't move..."

His face falls, "No, it's okay... E-Elizabeth... Where does it hurt...?"

"E-everywhere..." I mumble.

"It's okay. Let me help you up. Here we go." With his strong and steady grip, he forces open the restraints and pulls me up into a sitting position on the chair.

The feeling in my body slowly and painfully returns to me, but my mind is still hazy and numb, immersed in a deep ocean of confusion.

I then hear Booker say something inaudible. Whatever he said, I know it's not good news.

"B-Booker?" I stammer, "W-what's wrong...?"

He quickly says, "I just need... You know what? Just take a deep breath, okay? Ready?"

I simply nod, inhaling deeply until my lungs are full. It is hard to breathe as it is.

"One... two..."

GOD!

"Three."

I turn around to see a dripping spinal tap in his hand. This is the thing they were using on me... To kill me, to hurt me, to torture me... This is the cure.

"B-Booker..."

"What the hell were they doing to you..."

My eyes then meet his, and my heart nearly stops beating.

"Oh, Booker... Y-you're here!" I say. At that very moment, I can't help but reach my arms out to him. It still hurts to move, though I could care less. My last hope has arrived, my last chance to live.

He's Booker DeWitt. My shepherd, my man...

"O-oh... Elizabeth... I wasn't gonna give up on you," his voice nearly cracks, his eyes filling with tears. He pulls me into a strong and tight embrace, his arms wrapping all around me until I am buried into him.

"B-Booker...?" I then whisper. My face is still in his chest, wetting the fabric of his vest with my own warm tears.

He pulls back for a moment and looks into my eyes for a long second, "Yeah?"

I smile, placing a trembling hand on his cheek and stroking it softly, "L-let's... let's go home. Please?"

He shakes his head, his face changing into that of... fear...?

"B-Booker...? What's wrong?"

A long and eerie silence, and then the words that send my heart racing.

"We've still got work to do."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter ten of "The Girl for the Debt." Thanks so much for reading! And I hope my explanation of the last chapter cleared everything up. :) Anyway, please stay tuned for the next chapter! And don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Thanks so much again and I'll see you all again soon! Much love! Seeya!


	11. Chapter 11: The Two of Us

**Author's Note: Hello all! Welcome to chapter ELEVEN of "The Girl for the Debt"! I hope my explanation in the last chapter cleared up any confusion you might have had. :) And I also hope it eased the brain pain you guys were probably feeling. :P Anyway, enjoy the next chapter of our story! And don't forget to review, follow, and fav! Thanks and lots of love! **

**And the whole Comstock is Booker's kid thing will also be explained in this next chapter. And no, Booker does not know that Comstock is actually his son... yet.**

**And nope, that does not mean that Elizabeth is Booker's granddaughter either. I've said it many times, but I will say it once again, Booker and Elizabeth are in no way related! They're completely unrelated in this AU.**

* * *

_Chapter Eleven: The Two of Us_

* * *

**_Booker's POV_**

* * *

_**New York City, 1903...**_

"How she doin', doc?" Dr. Ike paced the room for what seemed like minutes. It drove me crazy watching the man jot down God knows what on his chart. He then walks to my wife's bedside and observes her like an animal.

She was sick, she was... was... dying...

"Well, Mr. DeWitt..." He said, "She... hasn't gotten much time left. Her condition has reached its... terminal stage. Her body can't fight it without the proper medicine, which we don't have. It seems as if this particular strain is stronger than what I've seen in other patients."

I felt like my world was fallin' apart right there and then, "Goddamn it, doc. Just give it to me in English."

A brief pause and then he said with a heavy sigh,"Your wife isn't going to survive, Mr. DeWitt. That's as plain as I can give it to you."

I just stood there, watching helplessly as my wife died slowly and painfully in her death bed. Her skin was as pale as snow, her hair dry and brittle, and her face as thin as a tree branch. There was no life left in that body of hers... She was nothing like the woman I met two years earlier. Not the angel that fell into my arms that day in my office...

"How long, doc? Just tell me, please." My desperation boiled over, my hope for her all gone. She'd been sick for months and all this time, the goddamn doctors couldn't do nothin' about it. It's typhoid fever, they said. There's nothing much we can do for her, they said. There's nothing you can do for a dying woman? Not even my own fucking wife?!

"Days, or even weeks. But I would say, based on the current severity of her condition, a week or two. I'm sorry, Mr. DeWitt. We did all that we could."

I then almost snapped at the guy, "All that you could? No, doc, you didn't do enough! This is my wife! What would you do if it was your wife? Huh?! Tell me, goddamn it!"

It didn't surprise me to see the man take a few steps back. There was no one else in the house but my wife, my son, the doc, and myself. He could have just called the cops on my ass, but he didn't. He just simply picked up his bag and made his way to the door in silence.

I wasn't gonna say another word to him, but before he left, I heard him say, "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. DeWitt. God bless you."

Nope, not a chance. God don't care about me, and he don't care about my wife! Not one damn bit! Even a prayer wouldn't save us from anything.

But the doctor was right... A week after I had seen him... Irene... she... she passed away. She died as I sat by her deathbed with my son in my arms. I had always been by her side until she whispered her last words and drew her last breath.

She said to me as she closed her eyes for the last time, "Booker, oh, Booker... Take of our child... Take care of him... Please... and remember..."

"R-remember? Remember what...? Irene? No, oh, God, no... Irene... Irene..."

I visited her grave almost everyday except for days when I had a job to do. I still remember the words on her tombstone. They read,

_Irene Josephine Miller DeWitt,_

_April 24th, 1874 to November 15th, 1903_

_Loving wife and caring mother. _

_We shall never forget._

_God Bless._

* * *

**_Columbia, 1920..._**

**_Two Years Later..._**

**_Emporia_**

"She is the flame that shall ignite the world, DeWitt," Rosalind says, filling our cups with tea.

I raise a brow in interest, "That's what you've told me already. But how so? You never said..."

"Do you know who Comstock is?" She then asks. I take a quick sip of my hot drink before answering.

"Yeah, kind of. They call him the Prophet and me the False Shepherd. I'm guessin' we ain't on good terms, huh? But the guy's dead, ain't he?"

She looks around the room and whispers, "Where's Elizabeth?"

I had left her to rest in the bedroom. Damn, it's been two years since I saved her from Comstock's house. She couldn't remember how ling she'd been there but I think it was six years. The girl's been screwed up ever since.

"She's sleeping."

"Well, then. She is his daughter. And if you are aware, DeWitt, Comstock had left her an inheritance, and that inheritance was Columbia. Elizabeth is the heir to Comstock's throne."

Well, I guessed that much.

"So, this Comstock fella wanted Elizabeth to take over his place after he died?"

"That's correct. And not only that, he wanted her to follow his lead. If you can understand, DeWitt, Comstock knew of her... ability... to open these gates, these portals into these many worlds. I discovered these worlds using our little contraption. I call them tears. Elizabeth's power is quite difficult to explain, but I will tell you that Comstock wanted to rid her of this skill. He saw it less of an asset and more of a distraction from the bigger plot."

I nearly choke on my drink as I listen, "Bigger plot?"

"She is the flame that shall ignite the world. DeWitt, she is the woman to destroy the Sodom below. Comstock had intentions to "cure" Elizabeth of her power and change her into his own image. In the future, DeWitt, your city will no longer exist. Elizabeth's Columbian propaganda will win the battle over this Sodom. Comstock's last prophecy will be fulfilled."

This is definitely not over... Not over 'till it's over.

"His last prophecy? Wait, how can I... How can we... How the hell are we going to stop that from happening? I don't understand..."

She then sighs and places down her cup, "It's simple, Booker. Call in the Bird. Here, it is advice for Elizabeth, before it's too late."

She gives me two cards with unfamiliar symbols and pictures on them. I turn over the cards, examining them closely, "What's all this?"

"It's your key, DeWitt. Your final task."

I hold the cards tightly in my grip, nearly crumpling them as Rosalind excuses herself from the room. I turn around one moment and pick up my pistol. I then turn back to say goodbye but when I do, she's already gone. Of course...

I better check up on Elizabeth... I should let the poor girl rest but maybe it's best if she knows what's going on. Damn, the torture she's been through... because of _him _trying to raise her in his shoes, brainwash her.

She is the girl that shall ignite the world... Yeah, the girl that's about to blow the world sky-high.

I carefully open the door to the bedroom, where I last left Elizabeth, and look inside. A beautiful young woman sleeps curled up on the bed, her face resting on her hands as she smiles. The way she smiles in her sleep is what I see each day, an image I always look forward to waking up to. She's so... gorgeous...

There she is... An angel... _My _angel...

"Elizabeth?" I softly whisper as I slowly walk towards the bed. I then lean over the edge, hovering over her.

She stirs slightly but does not make a sound. I call her name again, "Elizabeth?"

She stirs again and this time, she opens her eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes...

She smiles that bright ol' smile again, "O-oh, Booker..."

I place a hand on her cheek, caressing it, "Mornin', gorgeous," I chuckle. She blushes and looks away, hiding her face in her arms.

Oh, damn.

"B-Booker...?" I hear her mumble, her face still buried in her arms.

I smirk and softly grab her hand, sitting her up. I brush the hair out of her face and see those damn amazing eyes again. So gorgeous...

"Yeah?" I say, stroking her chin with my thumb.

She stares deeply into my eyes, and my heart begins to thump against my chest. My breath hitches.

"Kiss me."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** _This concludes chapter eleven of "The Girl for the Debt." And I am fully aware that I haven't updated in over a week. A lot of things have been happening lately so I've been really busy. But anyway, I hope you all are satisfied with this chapter because I'm actually planning on ending this story after the last chapter, which is chapter 12. With all that I've been caught up in, I'm not sure if I should continue the story or write other fanfics, but I will think about it for the next few days and see what I can do. But in the meantime, I hope you've been enjoying the story so far. Please don't forget to review, follow, and fav. Thank you for your patience, support, and understanding.


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